Loki remembered falling into nothingness.

Darkness enclosed on him, suffocating him, slithering its way into his eyeholes until he wasn't certain he had eyes anymore.

It was so so cold. It slashed at his clothes, flayed his skin, torn the muscles from his bones.

He couldn't breathe any longer.

He dreamt of plunging towards Helheim's lava meadow, bell-like laughter …

And flinging upwards only to fall into a stranger's embrace. The woman's white blond hair cascaded down his neck and chest. It tickled him. Her hug was so tight, like he was the hanging low tree branch in a flash flood where she had been awash. Her murmured words made no sense to him. He wanted to pull away, but she was crying, and it would be unwise and ill-mannered to pull away from a silently-tearing lady. So he sat still, for another fifteen minutes until her sob dwindled down and she released him, sitting back with the air of an aristocrat, only red-rimmed eyes whispered about her tears. And then she started asking after his health. He answered them readily enough, all healers just faked their concern for him. The sooner she got out, the sooner he could start making sense of this anomaly. Yes, he was awake; no, he was feeling just fine, not hot behind the neck; yes, he could hear and see just fine, maybe a little dry in the mouth; yes, he would love for a small glass of water and yes, he would love to go back to sleep now. The woman smiled brittlely at him and stood up, smoothing out the creases on the mattress. She gave him a gentle kiss on the top of his head and made her way for the door. With a quite 'Good night, my little dragon', she closed the door and he was finally alone.

Loki waited for her footsteps to fade away before gingerly sat up, his back resting readily on the backrest. He truly did not feel any heat or coldness but the sore was, more or less, real enough to remind him of the time a hunt with Thor went wrong and an enraged elk antlered him to the ground that left him bruised and purple for weeks.

He was dead. And yet he was alive. He had glimpsed the fire prairie of Helheim spreading out to where burning earth met deep red sky. The stab of pain when he accidentally leant back too heavily on his shoulder was too real, however.

He was certain he had died; as sure as he had known Mjonir would only answer to Thor.

How could he be alive when he knew he was dead?

No point in thinking about something he had no clues whatsoever, right now he needed to assess his surrounding.

He was definitely not on Asgard anymore. The furniture was much too high and not jewels-carved for it to be of Svartelheim. Not Alfheim either, even though the woman exuded an aura of Vanir nobility. Midgard?

Midgard with an undercurrent of spellwork and magic.

That was odd.

How had he not noticed this during his short visit before? The Midgardians surrounding Thor had been their usual plain nondescript self, nothing noteworthy whatsoever.

There was nothing restraining his movements. No ropes or chain, charms or spells, neither visible nor invisible. Two windows and two doors provided feasible escape routes, the door the woman left through must led to the rest of the building. Oh so carefully, he eased himself to stand, the movement sent jolts of jarring pain from his shins and feet. Once his magic replenished itself enough, he could charm away some of those bruises first thing.

The wooden floor was surprisingly warm. Bracing one hand on the wall, he slowly shuffled his way to one curtained window. The garden outside were majestic for Midgard standard though never as enchanting as Frigga's beloved garden. Evenly lawned grass stretched for as far as the eyes could see, hugging a marble fountain spewing out water in helix. A tall tree right in front of his window added some much needed depth for the monotonous prairie, white and red dotted its green leaves.

Right and left he turned, nothing to see but green grass and occasional shrubs. Loki pulled back, intending to explore the room for weapons of some sort when he was forced to do a double take. The faint reflection in the window showed a lanky blonde kid. Raven black hair that set him apart from others had inexplicably changed to the similar shade. Even one green eye had lost their venomous glint, replaced by a dull gray? Sneering hatefully, he strode as fast as he could, even crawling on the bed to save some walking to reach the full body mirror leaning against the wall. He wanted to see to what extend that lowly Midgardian had messed up his appearance.

The face staring at him was not his.

At all.

Lanky half-his-true-height body swam in emerald green robe, blonde (itshouldbeblack) hair tousled, sticking up like a porcupine. Gone was the the bony face, there was baby fat on his cheeks! Eyes of mismatched green and gray stared back, wide-opened in delirium.

Furiously, he casted a full body change spell with sodamnlittlemagic.

Nothing changed. Blonde hair contrasted glaringly with the dark interior.

In a frenzy, he casted again. One green eye tiredly gazed back at him from the mirror, sunken in exertion.

In a last ditch of effort, he put on an illusion of himself. Black hair, green eyes, tall and oppressing. But wheezing and bending over in exertion.

Mere five seconds and the illusion faded away, leaving him crumbled to the floor in an undignified manner. The appearance of a small wrinkly pinkish creature halted his attempt to haul himself onto the bed. It eyed him with big blue eyes before snapping one hand and he found himself on the bed under the blanket once again. With a pop, it disappeared. Before he even had the time to wonder where it went, the woman had rushed back into the room.

By now he was so damn exhausted to even pay attention to his caretaker. Something still attached itself to his memory though.

She called him Draco Malfoy to get his attention. 'I am Loki,' he wanted to scream into her face. He wanted to grip her neck and demanded to know what spell she had put him under. He wanted to kick her off the bed just for vindictive amusement.

He did none of those. He listened with half an ear and fell into oblivion not so later.

It was night time when he rose again. Opening his eyes to flickering shadows on the canopy, he wondered why Thor had not come. The buffoon were stricken enough to apologize to him, then he must be motivated to come looking for Loki and haul him back to Asgard jail so he could make amends. Perhaps then Frigga would remove this unnatural skin so they could all see him and his smirk in its full glory.

Why then wasn't Thor already here? He casted his sense out for Asgard enchantment.

Silence greeted him.

Confused, he reached deeper. The ever buzzing undertone of magic encompassing Asgard was muted. Inactive. Empty.

For millennials he had attuned his magic to that of Asgard so he never lost his way in unapproved world crossing journeys. To find that primordial magic gone ...

Asgard was not present.

Had something happened while he was free-falling into the void? Unlikely. The magic itself cloaked Asgard from his sense then? Why? To stop him from returning? To avoid more bloodshed? To prevent a monster from entering?

If that was what the magic wished, then so be it. He would not come looking for Asgard.

For millennials it had been his home, with its majestic arch doors, the spacious rooms, the Bifrost view from his balcony, all those fiery pits he curled up beside in winter nights, black hair tangled in Frigga slender fingers. The training hall where Thor mocked his feeble attempt to hold a sword and a shield when he much preferred tricks and knives, the Weapon's Vault where he discovered he was a monster he always hated, the throne room where he had commanded the Destroyer to kill Thor, the broken edge of Bifrost ... Odin disappointment 'No, Loki' ... Thor's anguish cry when he let go ...

Perhaps Asgard's absence was not so bad after all.

He could not help a phantom ache imploding within his chest.

The next few days were spent replenishing his reservoir of magic and banishing the illusion of a Midgardian child. No matter what spells he performed, they wore off in matter of minutes. He started to question his proficiency in spell-casting to not be able to counteract against Midgardians sorcery.

The woman went by often, usually in the company of a blonde man at night time. In a bout of sudden clarity, he drew similarities between the child and them. Pale blond hair the exact shade of the his in neat ponytail, storm gray eyes, long, delicate nose, high refined cheekbones. All their finest features were fitted into this boy.

Just what black sorcery had they performed to hale him from the dead and into this?

They did not seem to realize it was not Draco Malfoy that was listening to them, but Loki the Trickster.

They were not lying, though. They truly believed it was their son sitting right in front of them, recently suffering from a deadly illness that nearly claimed his life.

For the first time, Loki felt out of depth.

Few years flew by in a flash. He had grown accustomed to this new identity, a feat he never thought he would achieve.

He was Draco Malfoy, Heir to the House of Malfoy, but he was also Loki the Trickster. He had parents, loving parents, if the affection borderlined obsession they bestowed upon him was anything to go by. His magic, in contrast to the mistrust he received on Asgard, was praised to the skies. He should have been contented but he was not. The feeling of unease rooted itself deep into his consciousness. It was hard to trust again when the last family he had lied to him for his whole life.

The Malfoy manor was by no means humble in scale, but placed among the vast greenery, it became a speck of brown when viewed from above. Loki took great interest in these Midgardians art of flying, though wooden broomsticks made rather unpleasant seats. He drifted leisurely along the breeze flying at height that had Lucius pale complexion appear waxy. Even from among the cloud, the black mist still tingled at the back of his mind though. He glanced surreptitiously back at Lucius. The man was too busy tailing him to look at the ground below. Loki banked right hard and aimed for the flock of sparrows grooming on the west tower.

The whole manor had been shrouded in black mist for as long as he remembered, mist that no one seemed to notice. At first he thought it was just the Malfoys' magic. But Malfoys magic always had this slippery, bad faith taste to it. This mist, however, was evil. And at the center point of it was a small chest, locked and chained, in the ancestral vault. He had intended to leave it alone, having no wish for attention in this new world. But the mist were oppressing. He dared not go to sleep at night, fearing came morning he might not open his eyes. Lucius and Narcissa remained unbothered, even Dobby, a creature of magic, carried out menial tasks around the house without so much as a glance at the entrance to the vault.

Another sleep-deprived night and Loki flung himself out of bed, bypassed all spells and wards put upon the chest and took the thing out to the garden for cremation.

He wondered if Lucius and Narcissa would love him still once they knew.

Loki sedately walked the long dark hall of the Malfoy Mansion, hand smoothing over the various portraits of his ancestors. He should not be dawdling but walking this hall reminded him of just what kind of world he was reborn into, and he could not help but slowing down harried steps and reviewing all that he had memorised of his ancestors.

Armand Malfoy, the first Malfoy. Nicholas Malfoy, who dispatched many Muggles under the guise of the Black Death. Brutus Malfoy, who perpetuated the prejudice against Muggle-associated witches and wizards. Septimus Malfoy, who puppeteered the Minister of Magic. Anbraxas Malfoy, who was rumoured to have forced the first Muggle-born Minister to step down prematurely, and Lucius Malfoy, devoted follower of Voldemort not only escaped imprisonment but also gained a political standing in the Ministry.

An empty frame sat right next to Lucius', the name 'Draco Malfoy' engraved onto the dark mahogany in golden script.

Soon there would be his portrait up there, holding that same wand, wearing that same ring, sitting in the same postures, sprouting that same stuck up look and having an anecdote of devious act. The only differences would be his mismatched green gray eyes.

He did not know whether he wanted it to happen or not.

There were no windows along the corridor but the torches lined up on the wall provided more than enough light for him to properly observed each portrait and navigated through the twisting hallways.

Right turn at the end, two flight of stair up. Keep straight. His room was the third door on the left.

Loki heaved a tired sigh when the door finally clicked shut without a sound. This was too much excitement. Picking up the silken blanket thrown onto the floor in his haste, he settled down on the floor right where moonlight streamed down, its watery white-silver beam splashed across his face. The hawthorn tree shuddered its leaves in the sudden breeze, few white petals glided down serenely in an effortless dance with zephyr, twirling back and forth gracefully before soft grass tenderly caressed its delicate beauties, ending a night filled with love and promise of another dance that would never be fulfilled

He did wish the blackened journal he burned and buried near would not poison the tree.

Stars winked at him from the endless dome of void-black beyond the moon, like scattered moon dust in the sky. On Asgard, there had been no moon, just carpet of stars stretching as far as the eyes could see. Birthstone-blue, molten-gold, luminous-green, vibrant-scarlet, esoteric-violet, a celestial carpet woven with threads of various colours with no patterns. Here on Midgard, from his view from the balcony door, stars were a boring sequin-silver with an occasional icy-blue and blood-red that faded away before he even put a name to the colours.

He only regretted missing that dome of prismatic celestial bodies from his time in Asgard.

Only that …

Loki stifled a yawn and pulled the green material over his head. Tomorrow was September first. He only had three more hours of sleep until Narcissa came and roused him up.

It was probably not a good start with the golden boy of the wizarding world when Loki mentioned to his face that there was a dark mass leeching off of him. To say they did not get off on the right foot was an understatement. Potter was suspicious of him and Weasley was vining onto it to further Potter's contempt for Slytherin.

He paid them no mind; aversion was no novelty to him.

Classes provided no challenge for him. With curiosity fitting for a Ravenclaw, he had gone though school year books and devoured almost all books available in Malfoy's library. He did not wish to stand out, unlike Granger, whose hand was perpetually strung up to the ceiling with an invisible tether.

Defense Against the Dark Arts made him struggle though, not because of the material (Quirrelll was a joke of a teacher) but Quirrell himself. Making eye contact with Quirrelll almost sent him hurling all his pumpkin juice on the parchment on the first lesson. How had he not noticed it during the banquet? That man was revolting. Darkness oozed ceaselessly out from him, inky black liquid fanning out from his feet, stickily foaming its way to rows of table. Loki pulled his legs up and crossed them for the duration, ignoring Parkinson grating snicker. On the front, Quirrell kept on stuttering facts about vampires, occasionally whimpered when he remembered some supposedly horrific encounters. Loki wanted to sneer but the rising goo kept his attention focused on the floor. Class ended with a dilemma for him, on one hand he had no wish to sunk his legs shin deep into this substance; on the other hand, jumping from table to table would put him in limelight while he wished to remain in the dark. A bleeding lip and an 'Impervius' later, Loki strode calmly out of the class and made a beeline for the third floor corridor.

He sat down heavily on the top step, breath coming out in short gasp. The journal had him sleepless, Potter's leech made him want to puke, and Quirrell could possibly drown him. Just what exactly were those?

This was the sixth Defense lesson he skipped and Quirrell had actually taken it up to Snape. Loki wanted to give him a standing ovation just for going down the dungeon alone at night. His talk with the Head of House mainly contained his grievance for the man's incompetency, Snape looked like he might award Slytherin twenty points for badmouthing another professor. Loki continued his skipping streak, but dutifully submitted essays this time thanks to Nott's surprising help.

He had seen Nott a handful of time during gatherings at Malfoy Mannor but they never really talked. Unlike Parkinson's incessant flirting or Zabini's blatant narcissism, Nott was more tolerable with his silence and respect for personal space (Crabbe and Goyle the nincompoops came to his mind). So when Loki approached Nott in the dorm room to ask for the day Defense essays prepared for a cold shoulder, Nott tossed him a roll of parchment and went back to Transfiguration essay without fanfare. Too flabbergasted to be affronted at Nott's dismissal, he mumbled a thank and chose to sat down on the same couch to write.

Morning had him dumbfounded again when Nott held out a hand, palm up when they were preparing for class.

'Your essay.' Nott informed him succinctly and wordlessly plucked it out from his bag.

Loki wouldn't go as far as thinking of Nott as a friend, more like a partner in a fair trade. Nott handed in essay for him and in return, he framed out History essay for him. Wins all around.

October rolled by with the first flying lesson. And the first broken arm. For an heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottoms, Longbottom truly did his ancestor pride by loosing control of a measly broomstick and crashing head first into a brick wall. Classes were cut short. The wind's disappointment was palpable, judging by the directionless way his hair was tousled up. Despondently, Loki returned his broomstick to the shed. And nearly smashed face first on the grass, only centuries of reflex helped him twist to his back at the very last moment. Luckily for him there was no one around and Nott was polite enough to pretend he was checking for loose twigs of his school broom. Loki looked down to see the perpetrator and found a small palm-sized glass orb winking back at him.

Nott drew near when he picked it up and showed it to the sun.

'That's Longbottom's Remembrall,' Nott said and quickly defended himself as Loki quirked a 'how-could-you-possibly-know' eyebrow, 'Heard him exclaim to the dining hall when posts arrived. Not that you would notice since you were busy finding nonexistent flaws in my essay.'

'You wrote Emert the Evil and Egregic the Egregious instead of Emeric and Egbert,' Loki pointed out.

'What are you going to do with it?' Nott asked in lieu of answer, head nodding at the glass ball in his hand.

Loki lifted a half smile at Nott's blatant diversion but allowed himself to be pulled along. He wanted to put the globe down where he found it, less attention that way, but a memory from a past far away halted his hand. He remembered all the myriad of emotions when he thought he lost his beloved knife; the fear of not finding it anywhere in the room, the desperate search leaving no stones in the castle unturned, the resignation and then the pure joy when Frigga presented it to him.

Loki heaved a sigh. Longbottom was lucky he loved that knife very much.

The squeak Longbottom gave when he laid eyes on them were enough to brighten Loki's foul mood to pleasantly pleased. It seemed no matter what form he assumed, he was no less imposing than in leather and green.

'You are quite nice to Longbottom, Draco,' Not said airily while they made their way for Herbology.

Ah. The arcane rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Loki could never be set as a prime example of healthy rivalry, but his rivalry with Thor drew a stop at goading and calling names in mock battles, never to the point of outright hatred. Gryffindor prided themselves on their bravery and Slytherin on ambition. Chivalry and cunning. Nerve and resourcefulness. That was a straightforward way to look at the house of lion and the house of snake. But Loki had learnt well to observe things sideway and upside down.

'You know, foolhardy lions are more similar to us crafty snakes than everyone might think; we are both improvisers at heart. Tell me, did Potter planned to be called in by McGonagall when he rushed after Longbottom and consequently prevented that blundering fool from spewing out what little brain cells he had onto the ground? Neither was I planning to stumble upon the ball. We don't do plan, we react. And while those loudmouthed idiots charge in hoping things would go there way, we change and adapt, winding our ways through unexpected turns of events with elegance and wit,' Loki knew he was just addressing half the reason, but that was enough for now, his dismissal of the pure-blood supremacy might just give Nott a cardiac arrest.

Nott mulled over his reasoning while deftly captured a leaping toadstool mid-leap. Across their table, Weasley was twisting his upper torso, whispering curses, to reach an ingenious toadstool that managed to attach itself to his back while Potter had one leaping straight for his forehead.

'Love the way you put us Slytherin on a pedestal higher than Gryffindor, but no, I refuse to be called similar with someone as uncouth and uncivilized as Weasley. It's just...no.' Nott finished with a stage-worthy shiver.

'To each his own,' Loki chuckled, 'but you have to admit the merit in my line of thought.'

'Sure, o' smart Lord,' Loki's elbows missed Nott's ribs by a hairbreadth, earning him a cheeky grin in return. Nott sobered up before he thought of retaliation. 'But you should be careful, if words get out that you helped a Gryffindor, things might go for a head.'

'It won't,' Loki reassured. Fat chance if Longbottom ever spoke a word about today's event. 'Now scoot over, I have one toadstool leapt off the table.'

Loki wondered if Longbottom had made it his life mission to defy all opinions he had about the pudgy boy. There were many kinds of bravery, ranging from 'I-want-to-be-a-merlin-damned-hero' bravery to 'let's-try-this-poison-because-I-was-dared' bravery, Longbottom's bravery fell into the 'I-have-a-suicidal-wish' category. What could the kid possibly be thinking, making his way to the Slytherin table. During lunch. Alone. To announce to the school of his un-Slytherin act of kindness? He had his answer; Longbottom's gray matters weren't sufficient to process the severity of his unneeded politeness. How in Helheim could someone put courtesy before their lives?

Now that the cat was out of the bag, he might as well go along.

'You are welcome,' he injected a barrel of loftiness into the words and thankfully, Longbottom took the clue and scrambled back to the Gryffindor table where Weasley open-mouthedly watched the exchange, half chewed food visible inside his mouth. Disgusting.

Loki returned to his tart and papers, unconcern rolling out in waves while inside he was spitting profanities at Nott's bad mouth and Longbottom's stupidity.

His housemates discreetly studied him in his peripheral. Though Longbottom was a pureblood, Slytherins rarely went out of their way to help someone from Gryffindor. And a Malfoy, especially a Malfoy, would never be seen within three feet of a wizard from the Light side, much less get thanked by one. Ah well, if push came to shove, he would feed the Slytherin rumor mill with little half-truth about his intention. As for now, let them write his story.

Whispers slowly died down in the following weeks, only to crop up again right after Halloween feast. Loki blamed that senile old fool of a Headmaster for the rumor outbreak this time.

Which teacher in their sane mind, sent nearly two hundred children back to the dungeon common room, where a troll was occupying said dungeon?

And just what the hell were Potter and Weasley, whose common room located in a high and safe tower, sprinting straight for the dungeon for, terror gripping every inch of their face?

And why did he bloody feel compelled to haul those two back on their arses and chase after them?

And why was Nott even following him?

His existence consisted of too many unanswered questions.

'So you're telling me, that Granger was in the girl's bathroom, during Halloween banquet, crying, because of your tactless remark?' Loki paused mid-stride to give Potter and Weasley a fake surprised look, who were flashing beet red and refused to look at him. 'What a great couple of dunderheads you two make.' He exclaimed loudly, earning glances from scuttering house elves.

Granger was nursing the cup of hot chocolate, still too shell-shocked to input any opinions. Nott nibbled on a plate of cookies, observing with much glee as he tore the two simpletons a new one. Loki had first-hand experience with words, he could sweet-talk a Vanir noble into handing over the key to treasure vault, start a fight without being singled out as perpetrator, and badmouth someone straight to the face without them ever noticing.

He knew the power of well-placed words, and he knew just how deeply they cut.

Still red in the ears, Potter clasped a hand around Granger's, mumbling out an apology. Weasley was quick to follow suit.

Shaking his head in exasperation, he dropped down next to Nott, hand sliding over to take a butterscotch.

'How do you know about this?' Not asked, gesturing to the high-ceilinged room with rows of brass pots mounting the stone wall.

In truth, Loki didn't exactly know this was the kitchen, he just knew there was a spacious room with hundreds of little magic orb felt like that of Dobby right under Great Hall.

'By chance,' he shrugged. Nott just humped noncommittally, not truly convinced of Loki's half-lie.

Weasley seemed to remember just who had saved his life, one second he was ready to get down on his knees to beg for forgiveness, the next he visibly wanted to snap at him for sticking his nose in their business.

'Before you open your mouth and say something stupid, Weasley, I have a few words to speak with you,' He started conversationally, 'You detest me because I am a Malfoy, yes? Can't exactly blame you, though. Pureblood, blood-traitors, Mudblood, Death Eaters, Voldemort so on and so forth, my parents are devoted to those ideologies. But do not confuse me with them. Ever. Your parents and siblings may have lived through horrible incidents with Slytherins but have you? Not all Slytherins are evil just as not all Gryffindors are good. So I suggest you cease your attempt of forcing Slytherin stereotype on every Slytherin you meet. Have I made myself clear?' Loki grinned amicably at the red faced Weasley before turning to Granger, 'Have you got your wit back?'

She gave him a half-hearted sting eye, but nodded either way. 'What is this place?' She asked instead, eyes darting back and forth. As expected from a bookworm.

'The kitchen.' Nott piped in from the side.

'There is no note on a kitchen in Hogwarts, A History.'

'Ah, books do conceal truth sometimes, Miss Granger,' Loki pointed out, 'Never rely on just one source of information.'

Granger scowled but continued her pursuit for knowledge of the obscured kitchen, which led to a hotly debate of the morality of having house-elves working at Hogwarts.

'But wizards are abusing them!'

'Is it abusing when house-elves love doing what they are doing now? As a matter of fact, Helga Hufflepuff herself brought the house-elves in to work so they could avoid being abused. '

'That was then and this is now, how could you know if for all these centuries house-elves haven't been abused?'

'I couldn't, but you could just ask one of them, I bet there are some that have been living here for centuries. Be warned though, if you so much as suggest freeing them, I won't be around to witness the anger they bestow upon you.' Loki warned her as he pulled Nott to his feet and they made their way for the door.

'Why did you chase after us?' Weasley called after him as he reached for the doorknob

To earn a favor from the golden boy that I will call upon in the future. To receive a blood debt that no doubt will come into play when Potter becomes the beacon of hope in the war between light and dark. To get into his good grace. To break the expectation everyone places on him. Loki could give Weasley all the reasons above but instead he just said 'Your guess,' and closed the door.

'Why did you chase after me?' He directed this at Nott when they were safe in the dormitory.

Nott gave him an inscrutable half smile and threw his word back at him, 'Your guess.'

He couldn't help the vindictive pleasure as his pillow hit Theodore square in the face.

Longbottom was a legit idiot; he didn't peg Granger as one, too. Or Potter for that matter. When Snape told the class to pair up to brew Cure for Boils, Loki readily turned to Theodore only to jump as Granger thumped her bag full of books down right next to him with Potter in tow, meekly asking Theodore to pair with him. The whole class have gone quite, in shock and in abhorrence, even Snape stopped sneering down on Longbottom's clumsiness to stare at the four of them.

Loki was tempted to bang his head against the cauldron, but he figured it wouldn't help with all the attention he was having so he refrained.

'You'd better have a good reason for doing this or Merlin helps me I will chop off that frizzy hair of yours and use it to heat up the cauldron,' Loki gripped out in quiet frustration, hands racking through the gold mane on his head.

'We just want to say thank you,' Potter hurriedly stepped in when the brunette wasn't capable of forming any coherent sentences without them ending up as insults, 'For last night, I mean.'

Again with the courtesy before safety ideology. Maybe Gryffindor should change bravery into suicidal politeness as their quality.

'Can't it wait until classes are over and I am alone?' He heaved a put upon sigh.

'No, because you will just brush me off and I can't discus what I learnt last night with you.' The girl answered flippantly and Loki was tempted to dunk her head in the shimmering potion.

These two had no idea just to what extend their appearance on this side of the room had tipped the political scale.

'I asked a house-elf last night,' Hermione continued, oblivious to his scheme of killing her, 'Mentis her name was. She had been here for over two centuries, and she loved it here. How can they love a place that abuses them?'

'Haven't we gone through this?' Loki asked incredulously, 'They are not being abused.'

'I know for a fact that housekeepers don't really like their work. No one likes menial tasks like cleaning and cooking.' Granger ploughed on with her line of thought.

'That's because humans do it for reasons. For a living, for information, for a way in. Motives are always present in our course of action. House-elves don't have motives. Serving is their way of life, they don't feel obligated to do all the cleaning and cooking, they exist just for that sole purpose,' the stubborn girl was unconvinced, 'Think of a painter who lives and thrives among colors and papers. Now imagine him, empty of brushes and paints, forced to be a politician, can't you tell how he would feel? Disoriented and lost. The same would happen if you uprooted house-elves out of their familiar environment.'

He paused to turn the heat down and gave Granger time to mull over.

'Let's talk about consequences if you miraculously somehow succeeded. House-elves are powerful creatures; therefore, they would make horrible enemies if you offended them. Hogwarts, without the constant cleaning and cooking, will fall into disarray. Students too lazy to clean up their laundries, teachers too busy with curriculum to take up preparing food for one thousand students and staff members, attempts to hire wizard cook and cleaners will only lead to failure. Stir it anti-clockwise, not clockwise, Granger.' He reminded the girl, who was thinking far too much to focus on the intricacy of brewing potion at the moment.

Grudgingly, she said, 'I won't try to free them-'

'Good for you,' Loki cut her off. Thank Merlin his words had punctured her thick skull, 'Now bottle the potion and send it over to professor Snape, will you?'

'Why should I do that?' She asked indignantly.

'Well, I measure the ingredients, crush snake fangs, add dried nettles, control heat, add slug horns, wave my wand, add porcupine quills when you contemplate the merit of my words and almost send my hard work away. It is only fair if you do the very last part so we can get grades.'

With Granger handing the bottles to Snape, Loki turned to Potter and Theodore sitting nearby, cleaning up their cauldrons. The residue liquid showed an eye jarring orange instead of pink, but at least theirs were more pink-related than Longbottom and Weasley coal-black substance.

'Potter,' he called, getting the bespectacled boy attention, 'Gratitude is much appreciated.'

The kid brightened minutely, a shy smile adorning his face, which made Loki felt less inclined to prank the kid to humiliation.

Eyes and whispers followed him when he returned to the common room. It seemed that the rumor mill had been running at full capacity for even upper-year Slytherins gave him searching glances, mutter of Mudblood and disgrace filled the tense atmosphere. So this was more about him being with Granger than with Potter as he had suspected, blood supremacy ideology ran deeper than the hatred for Voldemort's vanquisher. Loki did not care for this … supremacy. Pureblood magic and Muggle-born magic, they were magic in essence, why the discrimination? Magic favored no individual. All was given the same start, how much they grew lied solely on them.

Naive children.

With head held high, he coldly strode for the sofa under the window, Nott right behind. Loki felt moderately bad for dragging Theodore into his mess, but his apology was shrugged off nonchalantly at dinner and he could not help a warm feeling warping around his chest.

Came morning the whispers had died down perceptibly. Loki was no stranger to rumor, the only way to stop it was to ignore. Besides, Slytherins presented themselves as a united front; it wouldn't do have other houses aware of internal discord and exploit that weakness.

A letter from Lucius, who rarely displayed affection for his son, surprised him. A summon home for Christmas was not so much, though Lucius did phrase it more elegantly, your presence was much missed by your mother and I.

A summon to talk about his politeness to a Mudblood more like. Lucius' rumor mill was quite a force to be reckoned with.

Loki scoffed and quickly wrote a reply stating he would like to remain at Hogwarts and 'please forward my regards to mother for all the sweets she sent'. Thor the owl hooted in goodbyes before taking off with the letter. It still cracked him up to think of blonde Thor with wings and upside-down head swivel.

Christmas stopped by with a blanket of white on the greenery; branches hang low with the weight of the snow. A vast layer of ice lay down upon the Great Lake, thin and clear enough to see the occasional fish. A warming charm helped him clear up some snow for a perfect spot and he just sat. Watching. Snowflakes danced and pranced from murky grey clouds

All was quiet.

He chanced a glance down his gloveless hands. A reddish tint had taken over the white pallor of his skin. But no Jotun blue, the deep dark blue that had knocked his life off its axis.

Bracing against rough tree bark, he gingerly sat up, wincing as cramps ran up and down his legs. It was moment like this that he remembered his body was no longer Asgardian, but mere mortal with picky demand for care and attention. He swatted away a bit of snow that had fallen on his hair. Time to let Nott know he didn't freeze to death.

Loki was pleasantly surprised at the scene unfolding before him. Before heading back to the dungeon, he made a detour to the kitchen to ask nicely for a cup of hot chocolate. But it looked like he wasn't the only one with the idea. There were empty mugs and plates besides the non-magical chessboard placed between Nott and Weasley, both of whom appeared to be in deep thought. Potter sat beside Weasley, eyes roaming over all the pieces scattered across the board. He slowly wandered over and seated himself on Theodore's right, which was closer to the fireplace. Weasley looked up and gave him a practiced sneer empty of any malice, while Potter mouthed 'Hi, Draco.' Funny, he didn't remember giving Potter his permission to call him by his first name. Nott however was too focused in the game to give him any attention. Loki leant in to have a closer look at the battle.

Theodore was good, but Weasley was as cunning as a snake on a chessboard, traps and lures set up beautifully, all awaiting unsuspecting enemy. The number of black pieces was more than white by four, and it seemed Theodore had the upper hand. But Weasley's innocent white pawn lying near the border could turn the table around. If Theodore moved the knight forward and captured the pawn now, he could end this game in less than twenty-

And the clueless boy completely bypassed the pawn in favor of a baiting bishop.

'Checkmate!' Weasley smugly announced to a peeved Theodore five humiliating minutes later.

'Have a round with me,' Loki nudged Theodore up and took the seat facing the redhead, eyes twinkling madly, 'Can't exactly have pretty boy here bring shame to us sly snakes.'

Weasley scoffed but arranged the pieces, and a game started anew.

The kid had potential, but pitted against Loki, who had centuries reading up on strategies and subterfuges and employing them, he posed absolutely no threat. The game was quick and lethal but it was the most brain stimulating Loki had had in years.

'Rematch.' Weasley demanded and Loki readily obliged.

He was about to make the first move when opposite of him, Potter was muttering urgently to Weasley. Something about library and Nicolas Flamel.

'Why should you two go looking for Flamel?' Loki asked cooly.

'No reasons,' Potter answered too quickly for it to be honest. 'We were just being curious.'

'Of course you are,' Loki raised an unimpressed eyebrow, deciding to humour them for now. 'Nicolas Flamel is a well-known alchemist and only known-maker of the Philosopher's Stone, which can turn any substance into gold and produce the elixir of immortality. Now that you have found answer to your search, shall we go back to the game?' Loki pointedly moved his pawn two squares forward.

The two Gryffindors stared dumbfoundedly at each other before Weasley dazedly responded with his pawn.

'For hundreds of years, wizards all over Europe have been searching for the Stone, hoping for wealth and everlasting youth,' Loki began casually, taking his bishop diagonally. 'None succeeded. The hunt for it waned away and the Stone itself faded into myth and legend.'

Loki had got their full attention. Time to execute the plan. He hoped Weasley wouldn't hold grudge against him for what he was about to do.

'For you to be searching for it, your family must be desperate, Weasley.' Loki taunted, 'An once well-off family had stooped to hand-me-down clothes and books. How frustrating your parents must be? And I wonder if the problems don't lie on the children. Seven children, two oldest can barely make ends meet and five talentless Hogwarts students. Your mother is a full-time housewife, therefore you are all dependent on your father, a mockery of a Ministry worker. One day he will realize he is better off without you lot sucking on his well-earned money and leave you all. I comment on your plan to save an already shattered marriage, Weasley, though-'

Loki didn't have a chance to finish as an incensed Weasley grabbed the chessboard and swung it at his head full force. Loki had to leant back to avoid a face full of wood splinters and did a back flip when the redhead advanced on him, fists clenched tight. Weasley aimed for his face and punched. It was ridiculously slow and sloppy. In one swift movement, Loki had the arm pinned to the back, the other locked in place as he wrestled Weasley to the ground.

'You vile filthy Slytherin!' The redfaced boy bit out every syllable, struggling like a rabid dog under his hold, 'Don't you dare talk about my family like that! We are poor but we are better than you slimy Malfoys. I don't need the bloody stone to make my family rich!'

'Then why go look for it then?'

'Because Snape was trying to steal it!' Weasley roared, right hand trying to scratch at the wrist pinning him down.

Snape? Philosopher's Stones?

He knew for a fact Snape wasn't capable of evil, the potion master seemed imposing in his growler and billowing black robes, but his magic told a story of a jaded wizard who had seen and experienced too much. The only person right now at Hogwarts capable of world-dominating evil was Quirrelll.

This was so very not good.

Quickly standing up, he seamlessly pushed Weasley in a seated position and discreetly casted a wordless and wandless calming charm before making a showy wand waving to put all things back in their places.

'I sincerely apologize for slandering you and your family. It was very injudicious of me to fabricate such lies. And I also apologize for making a mess in the kitchen.' The last part he directed at the crowd of house-elves watching in fear from the sidelines and he quickly bolted for the door.

Please let him be wrong.

He saw the three rush to him in his peripheral, a touch haste in their steps. But he was too busy identifying all the magic that he sensed behind that closed door to pay much attention. The three-headed beast that had been growling at him was telling enough. Beyond that, he was not sure anymore. Magic coming from wizard and human were different from that that emitted from creature and creations of magic. House elves' magic felt like cotton-wrapped steel spike balls, harmless on the outside but once provoked, there would be retribution. All magic felt like that. Innocuous with an underlying sense of danger, even Hogwarts' immemorial and Malfoy Manor's haughty magic. Past the beast were a lump of plant, hovering tiny orbs of light with something that felt suspiciously like a broomstick, thirty-two stone figures standing on a raised platform, a troll (Loki knew that magic goo no matter where), tongues of magic flame and-

Loki took in a gasp. If magic had color instead of the opposite black and white and occasional gray, the stone would be a brilliant crimson. Dark crimson the color of blood spilled over the ownership of the stone. So much power yet so much suffer.

It was, however, diluted with a vortex of white.

The red eye of a snowstorm.

Sparse protections against a malevolent entity, however.

Loki shook his head and turned around to greet Potter, who had managed to reach him first and was trying to consume Loki's share of breathable air.

'Potter.' Loki said, keeping it short.

'Draco, wha-' Potter huffed out, 'I thought you were going in there by yourself?'

'I have no suicidal wish,' Loki scoffed, giving Theodore a wave when the lanky kid drew close with more grace than Potter did. 'And if I did go in, what could you do then? Go after me? There was a beast just right behind that door in case you miss the growling.'

'Of course!' Harry said as-a-matter-of-factly; 'I'm not going to let a friend of mine go in there alone.'

That drew Loki's thought to a stop. Friend? He had never had any friends. The Warrior Three were Thor's friends, not his; he was just an extension to Thor. No matter how heroic and righteous Loki had fought in battles and practices, prevailed there the voile drape that hung between him and them. He could sit with them, see them, listen in, but never be part of a joke, never have a voice to give his two pennies. The drape made it hard for Thor to notice his presence. The drape remained while Loki had slipped away, both from the place and the mind.

Call him coward but he would rather be alone than with friends who would sooner or later left him. For Potter to consider him a friend... Could Loki trust him?

'Potter are worried for your life,' Theodore said, pulling him out of his reverie.

'Are you?' Loki raised a mocking surprise eyebrow.

'I am curious,' Theodore gave him a cheeky grin, hands too casually put away into the pants' pockets.

'Of course you are,' Loki could see his own eyes roll but he resisted, for Weasley had finally made his way here, a look of confused serenity adorning his face, which was completely paradoxical. Weasley could never look serene.

'I still want to punch you.' Weasley narrowed his eyes at Loki. The spell was starting to wear off then.

'You have every right to do so,' Loki agreed wholeheartedly. It was unrefined of him to pull Weasley's family into his taunt when all this should concern only Weasley himself.

'Why did you do it then?'

'Anger is the quickest way for one to reveal one's secret.' Loki understood this with all his fibers. Odin had used it on him once, to pry Thor's whereabout when the golden teenager prince decided to go for a manly hunt alone at night with nothing but a practiced sword. Odin had goaded him, sneered at him, compared him to Thor. You are not worthy of a warrior, Loki.

In his anger and uncontrolled emotions, he had blurted out Thor's destination and proceeded to yell his lungs out. Odin was wrong, he could be a warrior, one that is better than Thor and will conquer those beasts Jotuns. Odin just sat there, silently followed Loki's frenzy speech.

What a cunning mind, Loki thought bitterly.

Perhaps he shouldn't have used it on Weasley, there were plenty other ways to get the truth from children. After all he was Loki the Silver Tongue first and foremost.

But he needed to know fast whether those kids were unintentionally putting themselves in danger. Finding out Snape was their suspect uncoiled some of the tension, but he needed to know whether Quirrelll had obtained the stone yet. Loki had no trouble imagining the magic surges if the stone fell into Quirrell's hand.

'So you slander my family?' Weasley continued, eyes peering at him emotionlessly.

'Yes, you are most hung-up about your family's lack of wealth and it is as good as any weakness to exploit.' Just like a game of chess, an opening is an opening.

Weasley took his time to think. Maybe Loki could brew one or two cauldrons of calming draught for Weasley to use on regular basis. He rather liked a rational and quite Weasley.

'I still don't like you,' Weasley announced and Loki grinned. This was more than he had thought.

'Shall we all come down for Christmas dinner then? I am rather famished, Loki suggested. In truth, he just wanted to see what had got Hogwarts' magic twinkle madly in giddiness, peculiarly childlike for a sentient millennium-year-old magical castle.

Snow fell gently from the enchanted ceiling, hollies and mistletoes lined up along the walls. Twelve enormous fir trees stood around the room, each spotting different decorations. Glittering candles, large shiny golden orbs, red frilly bows or in the case of one tree that was charmed a garish purple, woolen socks of rainbow colors. Loki had a sneaking thought that the twinkling Headmaster was humming a cheery tune when he did this.

The four long tables were swapped for a big circular one. All other seats were occupied with teachers and staying students, so Loki took a seat right next to Snape and pulled Theodore down. The man gave him a glance but didn't say anything. Potter and Weasley headed straight for where three other redheads were seating, one of the twin whispered something to Potter and sent a sidelong look Loki's way. Loki expertly ignored it.

The meal was as extravagant as always with crispy roast turkeys, heaps of boiled potatoes and silver boats of thick gravy and cranberry sauce. Loki curiously pulled a cracker with Nott, inadvertently sending white mice scurrying across the table. Quirrelll whimpered and lifted his dish up high as a mouse streaked past his place.

Again with the timorous act. A wolf with his fur bleached.

A perfect cover.

Perhaps Loki could pay a little more attention to Quirrelll from now on. Loki had no intention of studying the merge of the stone's magic and Quirrelll's darkness.

Keeping a part of his sense on Quirrelll was more straightforward than Loki had first thought. Before he had to tune out Hogwarts' encompassing magic to pinpoint Quirrelll, now Quirrell's magic lingered at one part of his sense, ignorable but always present.

That magic was getting stronger and fouler days past since the holiday.

It was desperate. And dying.

Desperation went hand in hand with irrationality.

It seemed Quirrelll was not above this rule.

For a while Loki completely lost track of the man only for Quirrelll to suddenly pop up on the third floor corridor, magic feeling nauseously pure and innocent.

Without any second thought, Loki sprung up on his bed and dashed after him.

The traps were obnoxiously simple. A music-loving dog, a dark-dwelling tree that invitingly asked for light, a thick and rusty key among the swarm of slim slick keys, a fair game if chess, a riddle anyone with half a brain could solve and a sleeping troll.

A mirror at the end proved to be the only challenge, the source of the vortex that he had sensed before. The stone was definitely there, protected by razor sharp blades of potent magic.

'Ah, Mr. Malfoy,' Quirrell said, eyes not leaving from the reflection. 'However did you find me?'

Loki stayed silent.

'Lucius's spawn?' A chilling, raspy voice rung out from behind Quirrelll. 'I know your father, young Malfoy…. A man I trust…with something of importance….'

'If you are referring to the blank journal my Lord,' Loki put as much contempt as he could into those last two words, 'I must apologise for burning it.'

There was a stilted silence where Loki's smirk widened into a menacing full-toothed smile. Looked like he had destroyed a part of Voldemort's soul. As a matter of fact, whatever resided in Quirrelll was just a fragrant as well.

Loki would hate to see Voldemort in his full glory.

The door banged against the wall with a rumbling bang and Potter skidded in. The traps were a cinch to get past, so this was to be expected. Breathless and surprised, Potter only managed a astonished 'You!' at the sight of Quirrelll. Potter suspected Snape after all, so seeing the poor stuttering Quirrelll threw him for a loop.

'Draco?' Potter threw a confused glance his way, 'What are you doing here?'

'Same as you, can't exactly let Voldemort have what he wants,' Loki shrugged.

'How do you know about Voldemort?'

'Just had a fancy conversation with him.'

'Potter?' Voldemort asked, 'Let me speak to him…face-to-face,' this he directed at Quirrelll.

Without a token of protest, Quirrelll unwrapped his turban and turned on the spot. Where there should have been a back of Quirrell's head, there was a face that made Loki reevaluated his opinions of Jotuns, at least those creatures had clearly-defined noses instead of snake-like slits. With chalk white skin and glaring red eyes, Voldemort made a rather terrifying image but Loki had seen the worst the universe had to offer to be daunted by this.

Potter stood frozen to the ground, mouth gaping wide.

'Potter!' Loki called to get the boy out of his shock. 'You know what this mirror does? It shows your deepest desire.' The inscription carved around the top pretty much gave away the mirror's purpose. 'You clearly have no intention of letting your's parents murderer come back to the living so go there, look into the mirror and tell me when you know where the stone is. I'll keep dear meek professor Quirrelll occupied.' Loki instructed, drawing out his wand.

'Got it.' Potter said, dashing for the mirror.

Quirrelll made an attempt to grab hold of Potter's arm but a glancing Blasting Curse from Loki made him withdrawn his hand in fear of loosing it. Quirrelll finally turned around and trained his wand on Loki.

'I guess you will have to go first, Lucius' boy.'

'I have a name you know.' Loki frowned disapprovingly.

Quirrelll did not dignity that with an answer and started firing green killing curse at him. Loki smoothly twisted sideway to dodge and return fire.

For a host of the nefarious Dark Lord, Quirrelll was a terrible duelist. Sloppy footworks, excessive wand-waving and immoderate use of Killing Curse. For every Killing curse Quirrelll uttered, Loki had the time to fire three different spells at him, forcing Quirrelll to duck or use Protego.

'I have the stone!' Potter yelled from his right.

'Took your sweet time. Now get out of here quickly.'

'NO!' In Loki's miniscule distraction, Quirrelll had lunged for Potter and grabbed hold of his wrist.

Loki rushed in to help only to witness the bewildering development. The moment Quirrelll circled his hand around Potter's wrist, Potter's other hand, the one that was holding the red stone, came up to press firmly on the scar on his forehead and yelled painfully. Quirrelll's triumphant smirk was washed away almost as quickly, replaced by surprise and agony as he withdrawn his blistered fingers.

'Seize him! SEIZE HIM!' Voldemort shrieked. Quirrelll visibly gulped down his fear and lunged.

The Fiendfyre Loki casted reached its mark timely and Quirrelll dropped down near Potter's leg, thrashing silently.

'On your feet now,' Loki hauled Potter up and draped one arm around his shoulders, stumbling his way to the door with a near unconscious boy's added weight.

Loki glanced behind only to stare in horror at the approaching black dust cloud that passed through Potter too quick for Loki to do anything, leaving the boy out cold for real. Before he reached the doorknob, the door had swung open, almost hit him in the nose and Dumbledore was standing there in his billowing blue robe.

Foolish old man. Loki wanted to snarl. You knew this would happen. You knew Voldemort would come after the stone and you dare place it here with minuscule protections. You even indulge children on their heroic quest that almost get them killed. Manipulative string-pulling devious conspirator.

Loki said none of that. He yanked the stone out from Potter's firm hold and pushed it into Dumbledore's hand.

'I believe you know what to do with it,' Loki said and made his way for the hospital wing.

He completely missed the calculating look the Headmaster sent his way.

Potter was allowed out of the hospital on the day of the farewell banquet, sporting slews of bandages. Gryffindor won House Cup. Dumbledore's favoritism was at full power.

Loki predicted this but it still stung a little.

The train ride home was, for lack of better words, fun. He and Theodore managed to hog a compartment for just the two of them. Loki was halfway into a book when Potter, Weasley and Granger barged in with armful of candies and pastries. He ended up nibbling on three chocolate wands before taking turn trying Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Granger's unlucky draw of a stinky-stock flavor bean drew a laugh out of everyone. They played Exploding Snaps till the train arrived at King's Cross, the book lay forgotten on the table.

For the first time Loki understood what having friends felt like.

Lucius and Narcissa picked him up and apperated home. Before he was whisked away, Loki glimpsed at the walrus Muggle that had Potter cower in fear. It seemed he would be very occupied this summer for social events.